


Take A Sad Song (And Make It Better)

by xsilverdreamsx



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abuse of Beatles Lyrics, Cheesiness, M/M, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-26
Updated: 2011-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xsilverdreamsx/pseuds/xsilverdreamsx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when words fail, all we need is a little music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take A Sad Song (And Make It Better)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [prompt](http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/8359.html?thread=17461671#t17461671), where the OP wanted a story that has Charles quoting lyrics from The Beatles at Erik to get through to him, and Erik finally quoting it back at him.
> 
> Set after the beach divorce scene. I might have.. er.. deviated slightly from the original prompt and made it a wee bit more emo. The title is from The Beatles's "Hey Jude".
> 
> Beta'ed by **Etharei** , who said there's nothing wrong with a little cheese. <3 <3  
>  **Disclaimer:** I own none of these guys. Slight abuse of Beatles lyrics.  
> 

Charles can't get through to Erik, not with the damn helmet on. He tries to contact Erik; through letters, phone calls, even appearing at the locations that he sussed out using Cerebro. Emma may be good, but she's unable to hide Erik's group of mutants for long, and the little lapses in her concentration allow her thoughts to sometimes leak through, which Charles picks up on.

Unfortunately, whenever Charles tries to reach further in, she wakes up and the diamond walls return and cut him off again.

And when he finally makes his way to that location, they're no longer there.

 _Erik_ , is no longer there.

*******

It's on one of these excursions, with Alex driving the car and Charles in the back seat, looking out of the window and feeling utterly dejected at another failed attempt at finding the renegade mutants, when Sean's ears perk up and he reaches over to turn up the volume dial of the radio.

His excitement is apparent. "Dude, this group, they're awesome, man. You gotta check ‘em out," he tells Alex, who's stopped the car at the junction, waiting for another car to pass before turning out onto the main road.

The strains of the harmonica escape from the tiny radio speakers, trailing in time with the soft _dum dum da dum_ of the drums, followed by _Love, love me do_ , their voices harmonizing together.

Charles looks away from the window in interest.

Sean notices the movement and turns around, grinning at him. "Whadaya think, Prof? Pretty rad, huh?" he asks, referring to Charles by the nickname Raven had left him with. His chest tightens a little as he remembers her, smiling and laughing, eyes dancing mischievously, blonde and human-looking.

 _’You can be Professor X, and_ you _can be Magneto.’_

He refuses to dwell on that memory, and the residual pain behind it, and chooses instead to focus on the music.

Smiling at Sean, he tells him that "It's rather catchy", and is a little surprised to find out that he means what he says, that he actually _does_ enjoy the song.

Perhaps he’s not the “old fart” that the younger mutants think him to be. He’s enjoying a little modern music here, after all.

Charles taps away on his knee - he can't feel anything in his legs anymore - his fingers finding the rhythm as he watches them move in accordance to the beat. "What's the name of the group?"

"The Beatles."

*******

The Beatles had been around for a few years, a band of four from Liverpool who were rather popular in the United Kingdom; but when the United States caught onto their music, they'd become an overnight sensation. Singing simple tunes about love, being in love, and distracting the masses from their daily worries; the "Fab Four" - as they're nicknamed - is the one constant for Charles in his life now, apart from running his school.

 _His school_ , Charles thinks with a little pride, the _Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters_.

Daytime has Charles smiling for everyone, keeping up a slightly stern but patient demeanor for the new students that slowly trickle into the school roster. Alex and Sean are a big help, of course, and once some of the more skittish younger mutants become accustom to his furry exterior, even Hank lends a hand with the classes. Charles ignores the look of sympathy, the words _poor Professor_ _poor man_ that float to the surface of their minds as he navigates around the mansion in his wheelchair.

He keeps on smiling, however.

By nightfall, tired and his arms aching, his jaws aching even more, Charles leans back in his wheelchair, and allows the soothing tunes of wash over him in the library as he sits in front of the fireplace, poring over words that mean nothing, set in a page of a book he hasn’t the heart to continue.

Occasionally his eyes will wander over to the chessboard on the table - the pieces slightly dusty, the knight unchanged from its last position, placed there by Erik as he looked Charles in the eye whilst they spoke of their plans to capture Shaw.

 _’Peace was never an option.’_

It's nights like these, that Charles plays the music a little louder, if only to forget.

He still doesn't put away the chessboard, however. He never does.

*******

 _"Thanks for calling in to WKZM, this is Deejay Rogers, and we've got a caller on the line for our Request Hour. Say hi to the folks, Mr--"_

"Char-- Francis. Francis. Yes, that's me. My name."

 _"Alrighty then, Francis, how's about telling us what song you'd like us to play tonight?"_

"It's.. it's called _Searchin'_. It's by The Beatles. Have you.. can you play it?"

 _"We sure can, Francis, just for you! Is this song for someone special, Francis?"_

"Well, maybe. I don't know-- h- she's -- I'm looking for her, actually."

 _"What's her name? You wanna give a little shout out to her, she might be listening to us right now."_

"Oh. Well.. alright then. Eri- Erika." There's a slight pause, the name not quite sounding right, as if being uttered for the first time. "I want hi- her, to know that I miss her. That I wish she was by my side."

*******

 _’Charles, I want you by my side.’_

The memory taunts at him, twisting like a knife in his heart a little more, a little deeper each time.

*******

 _"Folks, you're listening in to the Request Hour on WKZM-FM, and here's_ Searchin' _by The Beatles, specially from Francis to Erika!"_

 _Yes, 'cause I been searching  
Well searching  
Oh my goodness  
Searching every which a-way yeh yeh_

*******

Charles closes his book, and looks around. The younger students have gone to bed, but the older ones are still lingering around in the common room, talking quietly.

Sean tries to stifle a yawn, but fails, and the loud exhale that escapes from his open mouth sets off Alex, who has been politely trying not to fall asleep during one of Hank’s enthusiastic explanations on his latest experiments.

Charles smiles at the scene almost fondly, and puts his book aside.

“Time to get some sleep, men,” he tells them.

For once, they don’t protest, gathering their things and heading up the stairs. It’s been a long day; but a fulfilling one, nevertheless, and Charles thinks that they’re headed somewhere significant with teaching the younger ones on how to control their mutations.

He wheels himself into his study, planning to look through the latest bills that have come in. Running the school costs money, and it’s up to Charles to try to balance his checkbook so that his endeavor doesn’t dry up his inheritance entirely.

Reaching his desk, he notices a package on the stack of letters - a square shaped, flat packaging that is too big to be a card. The bills forgotten for the moment, he picks up the brown paper-wrapped item, and tears through the wrapping to reveal a square, unmarked flat cardboard encasing a vinyl record.

He breathes a sigh of relief, and wheels over to the gramophone near the fireplace. Charles puts on the record, discreetly acquired via a few old friends in Oxford with the right “connections” to the music industry. The song is not an original; it’s a remake from another singer’s own tunes, but he prefers this version. It isn’t for sale on the official market, but it’s available for those who know where to go to look for it.

The tune floats from the gramophone, the notes practically dancing as the guitarist plucks away at the instrumental introduction. Charles leans back in his wheelchair, and watches the fire flicker in the fireplace.

 _Crying, crying,  
Waiting, waiting,  
Hoping, hoping,  
Someday soon  
things will change  
and you'll be mine._

It’s been a year, but Charles allows himself _this_. This moment of selfishness when he _hopes_ against all hope for Erik to come back; not for the Brotherhood, not for the mutant cause, but for _him_.

*******

 _When I was younger, so much younger than today,  
I never needed anybody's help in anyway.  
But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured,  
Now I find I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors._

It is an inevitable thing. Now that the government knows of mutants existing in this world, it’s only a matter of time before a “special team” is put in place to gather up the remaining mutants.

And it’s unfortunate that Charles only discovers this team during one of his trips to visit a young girl with the ability to control water. This time he’s accompanied by Alex and Hank, and they manage to fend off the attackers. Unfortunately Charles is concentrating so hard on holding the team of twelve men in stasis, that he misses one of them.

The wire that snaps around his neck chokes off his air supply suddenly, and causes him to lose his concentration. The twelve men are released from their catatonic state, and very soon, both Alex and Hank find themselves surrounded, with nasty looking guns pointed in their direction.

Charles scrambles and claws at the wire around his neck, but to no avail. His vision soon wavers, and begins to fade, and the last thing he sees is a puff of red smoke and a flash of purple before he descends into the darkness.

*******

He awakens, and blinks against the complete pitch black surroundings. As his eyes slowly begin to adjust to the dark, Charles realizes that he is in his bed. His fingers tentatively touch his neck; there are bandages around his neck, and his throat is dry and parched.

But he is alive.

He is _alive_.

After a few moments, he has the uncomfortable, prickling sensation of being watched. Instinctively, Charles reaches out with his mind, and searches the room him, but finds nothing.

Yet, somehow, he knows that he isn’t alone.

“Erik?” his voice is barely above a whisper - his throat hasn’t completely healed from the attack yet - but in the dead silence of the night, it’s almost deafening.

There’s a soft rustling sound to the right side of the bed, and he turns his head quickly to see the lone figure sitting in the chair by the bed. However, the fast movement sends a sharp pain to his neck, and he winces audibly, a gasp rattling out of his throat.

Suddenly, there are hands gripping his shoulders, fingers touching his face. Then, a soft kiss to his forehead.

“It’s alright, Charles. Just sleep.”

“I -- I have so many things to tell--”

“They can wait. You need rest. Now.”

There’s a pause. The medication starts to take effect again, but Charles struggles through the fog a little longer, asking a question, if only to let himself have a little hope.

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“I will.”

*******

The next morning, the chair is empty.

And somewhere in the house, a radio is playing quietly, almost in reverence of the Sunday morning, yet the words from the song almost mocking Charles as it streams through his mind.

 _I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday._

*******

Charles freezes in the act of twisting the dial to turn off the radio, as a familiar , _accented_ voice answers the radio deejay.

It _can’t_ be... but.. it is.

Hands shaking, he fumbles with the dials and turns up the volume instead, catching the tail end of the deejay’s words.

 _“... with DJ Rogers, on our Request Hour, from a Mr Erik who’s hoping that his girl’s listening to his thoughts right now.”_

 _Oh yeah, I'll tell you something  
I think you'll understand_

Charles is almost afraid to breathe. He grips the edge of the table and stares at the radio, his thoughts swirling around in his head like a maelstrom.

 _Oh please, say to me  
You'll let me be your man  
And please, say to me  
You'll let me hold your hand_

 _I wanna hold your hand._

*******

It is days before Erik arrives.

But when he does, Charles’s heart beats a little happier, a little faster - in tune with the record playing in the background as Erik stands at the doorway of his study, looking at Charles as if he’s the world.

 _“When I get home.  
When I'm getting home tonight, I'm gonna  
Hold her tight.”_

And when Erik finally kneels in front of him, and holds his face in his hands and kisses him once, _twice_ , and several more times, it’s like finally coming home.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Songs used in this story:**  
>  Love Me Do (1962)  
> Searchin' (1962)  
> Crying, Waiting, Hoping (1963)*  
> I Want To Hold Your Hand (1963)  
> Help (1965)  
> Yesterday (1965)  
> When I Get Home (1964)
> 
>  ***Author’s Note** : “Crying, Waiting, Hoping” was originally recorded by Buddy Holly, and covered by The Beatles a few years after that. There was no official release by the Fab Four, but there were a few copies picked up by a few collectors. I figured Charles wouldn’t hesitate to get his own copy. ;)


End file.
